Making Peace
by Angel's babe
Summary: Henry Fitzroy pays his dying father a visit.  Inspired by The Tudors Finale, that included visits by the ghosts of Catherine of Aragon, Jane Seymour, and Anne Boleyn.


Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with either The Tudors or Blood Ties

Author's Notes: 1. ""= Dialouge ''= Thoughts

2. _Italics= flashback_

3. Spoiler Alert: The Tudors series finale

Summary: Henry Fitzroy pays his dying father a visit. Inspired by The Tudors Finale. The episode included visits by the ghosts of Catherine of Aragon, Jane Seymour, and Anne Boleyn.

* * *

Title: Making Peace

John pulled the curtains tight around his King's bed. Henry only fitfully slept now, a sign the end was drawing near. According to John, it was a sad end for a great man. If people asked him he would've said Henry was a decent King who wanted to do well by his family and his people. John watched him in the last few weeks growing weaker; he'd seen his best friend buried; a reminder of his own age, and pushed his wife and children away; the Queen, Mary, and Elizabeth all moved to Greenwich. His wife- Katherine Parr was a woman unlike any other. John felt certain if he met her second, instead of Anne Boleyn none of the rest of it- the games, the politics, the lies and intrigue wouldn't have happened. She was strong, and courageous; Henry's intellectual match. She challenged him, and pushed him to his limits, and got away with it. She was a loving mother to his children: Mary, Elizabeth, and little Edward- the apple of everyone's eye.

Edward was the spitting image of his mother. He had Jane Seymour's blond curls, and her solemn bearing. But when one looked closely at the little prince, he was Tudor too. He had the same smile and glint in his eyes as another Tudor prince. Henry Fitzroy would be 30 now, had he lived and be long in charge of his duchy of Richmond. John wondered what he would make of his father; would he be proud of the kingdom built? What would he think of his sisters and brother? John suspected Mary would be happier had she a brother to love, and tease her way siblings did.

He'd approached the door from the King's part of the castle into the courtyard. The fall leaves crunched under his boots as he walked through the fog-covered gardens- a past time John enjoyed when he had a few moments between his duties. He idly glanced around the gardens; there was nobody else around. And yet he felt as if he was being watched. Suddenly, he could just make out a figure standing on the path maybe 10 paces ahead.

"Hello!" He called; waving his hand wondering what another was doing in the King's private garden in this weather. He received no answer. He stopped short and called again, this time in a less friendly tone:

"Who's there?" John was almost upon the figure, which slipped back into the mist. John paused holding his breath, listening. The figure returned, stepping behind him clapping a hand over his mouth. John felt unthreatened and allowed himself to be quietly carried from the gardens, and settled just inside the stairwell with his back against the wall. The figure stayed standing.

"Who are?" The figure cut off his question by pushing back his hood.

"Prince Henry?" John couldn't believe his eyes. Before him stood an 18-year old man with curls framing a face so like Henry Tudor's. He stood still long enough for John's inspection. He marveled, bowing. Ever watchful, Henry turned away from him looked back the way they came.

"Forgive me, but I thought you'd… There was a funeral, a period of mourning. " A look from the prince silenced John.

"I've heard he's dying." John blinked snapping out of his disbelief.

"Yes, he doesn't have long my lord."

"Just call me Henry." Henry motioned him to stand, and led the way up the stairs to the King's quarters. They switched places as they neared the door to the corridor. Henry replaced his cloak, pulling up his hood.

"Nobody can know who I am, or why I'm here." He instructed, slouching his he walked. They encountered only one man-at-arms in front of the doors.

"The King wants no visitors, you know that John," the guard sternly told him.

"He'll see me." Henry spoke with such force it made John recoil in wonder. The pronouncement had its effect, and the doors were opened to admit them. John was anxious, but didn't question it. He hung back while Henry moved ahead pushing the bed curtains back.

Henry stopped. He was unprepared for what time had done to his father. The last time he'd seen him, he'd been young and athletic. He had a magnetic personality that naturally made him the centre of any room. What lay in front of him was something different. He was old, and overweight. His face had his life's sorrows written on it, and his hair had gone from reddish brown to grey. He whimpered in pain. John quietly withdrew leaving his King with the prince.

King Henry Tudor was reaching the end of his life. After fighting for his family, for his life, and love it was nearly over. He'd dreamed of his other wives; faithful Catherine- his first, and she would say only in the eyes of God. She came to him wanting justice for her Mary. Anne was exactly las she was in life: passionate, and defiantly begging a life and mercy for her Elizabeth. And sweet Jane of the golden curls; she wanted her Edward well, and his place as King assured. He even dreamed of Bessie Blount- his first mistress; her son Henry would be 30 if he lived. He was another blonde, freckle-faced child. He had his mother's good humour, and Henry loved him as a first born making him duke of Richmond.

He stirred at the sound of someone moving near his bed, cracking open one eye. He couldn't believe the sight before him- a curly-haired youth with a face like his own. Instantly he knew who he was.

"Another ghost come to taunt me?" the King asked. The other Henry smiled a little sitting next to him grasping the man's hand. The King continued searching for an explanation:

"You're not a ghost then… too solid for that. Some kind of dream then?" Henry Fitzroy nodded; the truth was probably beyond the other man's understanding now.

"I'm dying you know. What do you want?" the King came straight to the point.

"For you to be at peace." Henry answered.

The King bitterly chuckled: "It's ironic is it not, that something I've been striving for all my life should at last be mine as I'm about to die." It caused the other Henry to chuckle as well.

The King appraised his son: "You died 12 years ago. How are you still here?" Henry was silent.

"The sickness doesn't affect my eyes and brain boy," the King said. Henry wondered if he should take the chance, or if the truth would actually kill him. He took a breath wanting to leave his father with something:

"I didn't die. I became a vampire," he was just blunt as his father. King Henry laughed: "Such things don't exist."

Henry let his eyes go black, and the King reached one hand up weakly trying to make the sign of the cross.

"Eternal life. Drinking blood… I suppose anything is possible," The King was skeptical.

"Will you take my throne?" He asked the blunt question.

"No. I don't age. Can you imagine 50 years from now, with no heirs and successors: everyone around me looking old and infirm I'll look much as I do right now? England could be in worse shape than it is right now. How many courtiers would want to kill me?" Henry answered.

King Henry chuckled; his son let it drift into silence.

"Or it could be at peace." King Henry said it with reverence. He looked at his son in awe.

"You would have made a great King," King Henry's tone was tinged with regret. Henry nodded his golden head in acknowledgement. The compliments were hard won from his father.

King Henry coughed before speaking again. "I regret the way I treated your mother. I loved her; I should've treated her so much better than I did."

It was Henry's turn to gulp back tears. "She went to her grave loving you. She could never stand to hear a bad word spoken of you." King Henry was silent as his eyes closed. The first clue Henry had he was asleep was his laboured breathing.

He took the opportunity to plant the compulsion for a good night's rest, and shift his memory so he would believe this nothing but a dream. He allowed the love to overflow from his own memories into the older man's brain. And then Henry Fitzroy stood up and withdrew from his father's bedside. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his hair, and bowed as the servants pulled the curtains around his bed.

He exited the room to find John waiting in the hallway to lead him back downstairs.

"God be with you Henry Fitzroy," John said sticking out his hand after they got to the doorway. Henry took it, feeling no need to compel the man.

"Your secret is safe with me," he added. Henry adjusted his stride to a slouch, and drifted into the mist.

One week later Henry slipped into the back row of the church. As King Henry VIII's casket passed him he bowed his head in a silent goodbye to his father, and wished him to be at peace.

The End


End file.
